Boxing Day

By Boxing Day, everyone had noticed something was up with Mark.

He’d spent Christmas Day checking his phone then putting it face down on the sofa. He snapped at my son Arlo when he’d asked Mark to play Guess Who, which earned him a hard stare from his wife, Cheryl, before she set up the board and played with Arlo instead. He’d sunk most of the bottle of Tanqueray I’d been gifted by work.

‘Why’s he being such a twat?’ Jane said, standing at the sink with her hands in the washing-up.

‘Isn’t he always?’ I said, handing her back a plate she’d not washed properly.

‘More of a twat than normal, then.’

‘Maybe he’s having an affair?’

‘Mark? Who would fancy him? Anyway, surely Cheryl ripped his balls off years ago.’

Sniggering, we made our way back into the sitting room where Mark was yet again checking his phone, and Cheryl was smoothing Arlo’s hair as he tried to wriggle away.

‘Cheryl, he doesn’t like it,’ said Mark.

Mum raised her eyebrows at Cheryl and shrugged.

We laid out the Boxing Day teatime buffet, which hadn’t changed since 1988. Pork featured heavily in the form of glazed ham, pigs in blankets and sausage rolls. A small bowl of salad had been added in 1994 to Dad’s disgust. Words had been had.

Auntie Pen and Uncle Arthur arrived and immediately took up residence in the best armchairs, expecting to be waited on hand and foot as usual, whilst their twins glued themselves to their phones, shovelling Pringles into their mouths without taking their eyes off the screens. Creepy Roy, who came to all our family gatherings although I’d never quite worked out why, leered at Jane’s cleavage in her low-cut dress until she muttered, ‘Dirty old perv,’ not quite under her breath.

Mark kept going back and forth to the hallway, pulling aside the thick velvet curtain and peering through the fanlight in the front door into the darkness, freezing every time a car slowed outside.

‘Can you stop doing that,’ said Mum, carrying a plate of vol-au-vents through to the dining room. ‘You’re letting the cold air in. Everyone’s already here. Jeff and Daphne couldn’t make it, his sister’s in a home now and they’re visiting her every day. Not that she knows if they’re there or not, but he said he wouldn’t feel right, her being alone over Christmas and…’

Mark had walked away, biting his cheek and running his hand through his hair.

‘Well, how rude,’ said Mum.

Just after five, the doorbell rang.

Mum answered it.

‘Mark! Mark! There’s someone here for you.’

Jane and I looked at each other before diving into the hallway, where we saw a woman standing on the front step, holding hands with a child who looked to be about six. The woman looked weary and watchful, her blonde hair marred by dark roots, a stuffed checked laundry bag at her feet. The child was holding a plastic car and had his hat pulled too far down.

Mark followed us into the hall and stopped.

‘Hi,’ the woman said. ‘You didn’t reply but I thought you might be here over Christmas.’

‘Oh god. Sarah…’ Mark began, then didn’t finish.

‘This is Leo,’ said Sarah.

Leo waved the car at Mark and walked straight past him.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

‘Well,’ Mum said, eventually. ‘It’s good to see you again, Sarah, it’s been a long time. You’d better come through to the living room.’

Everyone stared at Sarah and Leo as they entered the room. Even the twins briefly looked up from their phones, before realising they had zero interest in whatever this was. Dad nodded hello, the slight frown between his eyebrows letting me know he was trying to place where he recognised Sarah from. Someone found Leo a drink. He sat on the floor and took more cars out of his pockets, lining them up carefully. Arlo joined him on the floor, picking up a red car and making engine noises.

Sarah sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped.

‘I wasn’t sure whether to come,’ she said. ‘But I thought you should know.’

‘Mark, what the fuck is going on?’ said Cheryl, staring at Leo, her face pale.  

Sarah took a breath.

‘Leo is Mark’s,’ she said.

The room went quiet. Mum didn’t speak. Dad looked at Leo, then at Mark.

Mark opened his mouth and closed it again.

Cheryl didn’t wait. ‘This is a joke, right? You don’t just show up with a kid and say that.’

‘I just thought it was time he knew,’ said Sarah. ‘Things haven’t been easy for me and Leo. And you always seemed so…’ Her eyes teared up as she waved her hand around the heavily decorated sitting room. The fire gave off a welcoming heat, the drinks table groaned under its load of spirits and wines, the buffet table looked like a classic M&S Christmas ad.

Leo drove one of the cars into the skirting board.

Mum stood up. ‘Well, we were about to have tea. Why don’t you join us?’

Plates came out. Food was passed around. Leo accepted a sausage and ate it without comment. Sarah said thank you several times.

Mark sat very still.

Leo finished eating and wiped his hands on his trousers.

‘Are you my dad?’ he asked Mark.

Mark looked at Cheryl, who had an untouched plate on her lap, before turning to Sarah. ‘How old is Leo?’

‘Six,’ Sarah said.

‘And when was he born?’

Sarah hesitated. ‘June.’

‘We weren’t together then.’

Sarah looked at him. ‘We were still seeing each other,’ she said.

‘No,’ Mark said. ‘We weren’t.’

Cheryl exhaled sharply. ‘I bloody hope not, we got married seven years ago.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, closing her eyes. ‘I just thought if I turned up, someone would help. I didn’t know what else to do.’

No one contradicted her. No one said it was fine.

‘Mummy, I’m tired,’ said Leo.

‘Here, snuggle up on the sofa,’ said Jane. ‘I’ll stick the TV on. Look, it’s Paddington, do you like that?’

The afternoon continued. Leo fell asleep on the sofa under a blanket Mum fetched from upstairs. Sarah sat on the carpet with her back against the sofa, her hand resting on Leo’s foot.

Mum poured Baileys for everyone. Dad put another log on the fire. The television stayed on, the sound low.

Mark stood near the doorway for a while, then sat down. He reached for Cheryl’s hand but she snatched it back. She straightened Leo’s trainers, looking wistfully at their tiny size.

Jane passed me a glass and rolled her eyes. I raised mine back. We could save the gossiping for later.

As the Strictly Christmas Special started, Mum passed the Quality Street round. When the tin reached Sarah, she hesitated, then took one. Leo half-woke, and opened his eyes. ‘Is this the dancing one?’ he muttered. ‘Can we see who wins?’

‘Of course, you can, love,’ said Mum.